


Don't Let Go (Love)

by MxTicketyBoo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Glove Kink, Gloves, Leather, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sharing Clothes, Support Conversation Spoilers (Fire Emblem), SylvainWeek2020, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/pseuds/MxTicketyBoo
Summary: Sylvain’s shirt lies there, wrinkled and clearly worn. Felix picks it up, strokes the sleeves, the laces at the collar. He presses it to his face, burying his nose against the fabric, smelling sweat and stale cologne, the hint of some herbal soap. And Sylvain.Sylvain, Sylvain.Felix moans into the material and inhales, drawing in the scent until he’s dizzy with it, until his lungs ache.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 138





	Don't Let Go (Love)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the En Vogue song that inspired this little fic, particularly the line _"If I could wear your clothes, I'd pretend I was you, and lose control."_
> 
> This is my first completed Sylvix fic, and it was technically written for Sylvain's birthday, but it's entirely from Felix's POV. Whoops. Also, I'm not immune to all of the Sylvain glove fanart and fic going around Twitter lately, so there's some of that here, too. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to purple_bookcover and dustofwarfare for being awesome and beta reading this super last minute. <3

Felix isn’t sure how he ends up in Sylvain’s quarters. 

He’s spent the last hour aimlessly wandering the monastery after leaving Sylvain behind in the infirmary. Sylvain was already laughing and smiling before Felix left, as if he hadn’t nearly been gutted during a routine supply run earlier this morning. 

In typical Sylvain fashion, he brushed aside the severity of his injuries and let the incident roll off his shoulders like water from a duck's feathers, but Felix? Felix can’t help imagining all the worst case scenarios. 

What if he and Mercedes hadn’t been there when Sylvain went down? What if Felix didn’t have an elixir on hand? What if it had taken him even a minute longer to pour said elixir into Sylvain’s bloody mouth?

It should have been easy. They hadn’t anticipated any conflict. The trouble was, with the war, so many people were hungry and desperate. Not even a contingent of armed soldiers would put them off when the choice was either death at the end of a sword or from the slow, gnawing agony of starvation—and a wagonful of food intended for Garreg Mach proved too much temptation to resist.

Felix can’t even blame them. Famine is a powerful motivator. But Sylvain being injured is… unbearable. Especially when the blow that wounded him was meant for Felix. 

“Idiot,” Felix murmurs under his breath. He could have fended off that blade. There was no need for Sylvain to shove him aside and put himself in harm's way.

Felix is grateful to be alive, of course, but given the choice between his own life and that of one of his friends? He’d readily die. How could he go on living with the knowledge someone he cared about as deeply as he did Sylvain or Ingrid, or Ashe or Annette, had sacrificed themselves for him? He _couldn’t._

And Sylvain… No, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Felix won’t. They made that pact to die together all those years ago. He has no intention of dying early, and there’s no way in hell he’ll allow Sylvain to go before him either.

He shuts the door behind him and drifts farther into the room. For the most part, Sylvain keeps his possessions neat and orderly, but he must’ve been in a hurry this morning. One of his shirts lies discarded on the bed, and his spare pair of leather gloves rests on the desk.

Felix removes his own gloves to touch them lightly. The leather is buttery soft. Expensive. A gift from the margrave, perhaps? No… he isn’t the sort to send gifts to his child. A present from one of Sylvain’s many lovers? Felix rejects that idea, too. These, he thinks, Sylvain bought for himself. They’re a fairly new addition to Sylvain’s wardrobe, and though Felix wants to deny it, he finds it hard to tear his gaze away from Sylvain’s big hands whenever he wears them.

Felix forcibly turns his attention elsewhere for the moment, peering at the papers scattered on Sylvain’s desk, then at the cork board mounted on the wall beside it. There are various knickknacks pinned to the surface. A ribbon. A scrap of parchment covered in doodles; Felix suspects it’s Bernadetta’s handiwork. And there, a copy of this month’s calendar. Felix isn’t sure why the professor still makes them. They’re not students anymore; they don’t have a class schedule to adhere to. Maybe it’s force of habit. But something about this particular calendar niggles at him.

He doesn’t understand why immediately. It’s the Garland Moon, the beginning of summer. What’s special about this month? What gives him pause and makes something in his brain itch as he looks at the dates?

Abruptly, understanding dawns. It’s the fifth, and the date is significant because it’s Sylvain’s birthday. He’ll be twenty-six today, Felix thinks, quickly doing the math in his head. Does anyone else know? Did Sylvain even remember himself?

Between missions, war councils, and quelling skirmishes, the days tend to blur together. It’s possible Sylvain doesn’t realize the date—or if he does, he may not see much point in mentioning it.

Sylvain almost lost his life on the day of his birth. Somehow, that makes it _worse_. And now he’s spending the evening in the infirmary recovering from injuries he received protecting Felix. No celebration. Only pain and the tenderness of a newly healed wound. Magic made miracles possible, but often the ache persisted for hours or days, depending on the severity of the injuries. That’s simply the way of things. Sylvain will be hurting tonight, and Felix is to blame.

Anger flares bright and hot in his gut. His hands clench into fists at his sides.

Felix would have done the same for Sylvain, without hesitation. So why is he infuriated Sylvain protected him, risked his life for him?

_Because he’s not supposed to go first. Not him. We go together._

Felix breathes heavily through his nostrils, remembers the warm rush of blood, the spasm of pain on Sylvain’s face, his pallor and the shocked haze in his eyes.

_No. Put it from your mind. He’s alive. He’s still here._

Felix forces his hands to relax, rolls the tension from his shoulders. He should go to the training grounds maybe, but for once, he’s not in the mood to unleash his pent-up emotions on a wooden dummy. He simply wants to exist in Sylvain’s space.

“Right,” Felix says to the empty room. It doesn’t matter that Sylvain isn’t well enough to celebrate his birthday tonight. What’s important is he’ll be around for _more_ birthdays. Felix will talk to the others; they can plan something for another day.

Felix moves toward the desk again. The scent of Sylvain’s cologne emanates from a small, stoppered bottle beside a stack of letters. Felix lifts it to his nose and sniffs. It smells slightly different in the bottle than it does on Sylvain’s skin, but the familiarity brings comfort. Without thinking, Felix uncorks it, rubs a drop on the inside of his wrist.

His attention returns to the gloves next. The leather is so supple Felix can’t resist slipping them onto his own hands to test the quality, the give of the material as he flexes his fingers. They’re a bit large for him, but knowing his hands are where Sylvain’s have been, that this is what it feels like for Sylvain when he wears them, does something unexpected to Felix, makes a sudden surge of heat pool low in his belly.

He’s thought about what these gloves would feel like against his skin. Only, in his imaginings, he’s not the one wearing them. He’s pictured Sylvain’s hands, encased in black leather, skimming along his bare thighs, thumbing at his nipples, gripping his hard cock and stroking.

Felix touches his sensitive inner wrist, where he rubbed a drop of the cologne, and shudders at the sensation, the way the scent flares.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but moving almost on instinct, he strips off the gloves and reaches up to undo his chest plate and pauldron. It’s slow work, peeling off the layers—his sword belt, his cloak, the long overcoat—but he’s so accustomed to it by now, the actions are mostly muscle memory. His shirt goes next and the form-fitting turtleneck beneath. The gaiters, trousers, and boots he leaves on for now; then he puts the gloves back on before wandering over to the bed.

Sylvain’s shirt lies there, wrinkled and clearly worn. Felix picks it up, strokes the sleeves, the laces at the collar. He presses it to his face, burying his nose against the fabric, smelling sweat and stale cologne, the hint of some herbal soap. And Sylvain.

_Sylvain, Sylvain._

Felix moans into the material and inhales, drawing in the scent until he’s dizzy with it, until his lungs ache. He slips it over his head and lets it fall around his shoulders. Sylvain is both taller and broader, and the shirt drapes over Felix’s slimmer frame like a dressing gown, the hem coming to rest around Felix’s mid-thigh. He strokes his gloved hands across his chest and down his torso to his waist, relishing the sensation of the linen against his skin. The linen that last rested against Sylvain’s skin, that last encompassed his wide shoulders, that’s touched Sylvain in places Felix has only ever dreamed about.

He knows he should probably feel some guilt. On some level, he knows this is wrong, this invasion of Sylvain’s privacy, but now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop himself. 

He sprawls onto the bed, shoves his face into Sylvain’s pillows. His scent is so strong here. Felix revels in it as he clutches the sheets in his gloved hands. His hips start rocking of their own accorded, and he presses his burgeoning erection against the mattress, seeking friction.

“Sylvain.” He’s alive. He’s alive, and he doesn’t know that Felix wants him this way, with this level of needy desperation, and he never will. The knowledge hurts like a blade to the chest, but Felix will take this stolen moment, if it’s all he can ever have. He loses himself here, writhing amid Sylvain’s sheets, wearing his shirt and gloves. Sylvain’s scent is so thick, so potent Felix can taste it in his throat. He’s longed to have Sylvain there, too, to suck on his cock and see how much he can take, to swallow Sylvain’s come. He wonders how different it’ll taste from his own. “ _Sylvain_.”

Felix turns onto his back and pulls the pillow over his face, his hips rolling. Any semblance of control has entirely vanished. It doesn’t matter. The room is shrouded in shadows, the door is closed. No one knows he’s in here, and he’ll clean up after himself and slip back to his own room before anyone ever finds out. It’ll be like he was never here in the first place.

Emboldened by the thought, Felix slides his palm along the tautness of his abdomen, up, higher, finding one of his nipples through the linen of the shirt and twisting until the pain makes him hiss into the silence. Higher still, to the base of his throat, where he squeezes lightly and imagines it’s Sylvain holding him down. 

Smothered by the pillow soaked in Sylvain’s scent and feeling half-drunk from his heady mouthfuls, he tips his head back and increases the pressure on his neck, tightening his fingers while rubbing the heel of his free hand along the ridge of his cock through his trousers. A lightning bolt of pleasure rips a whimper from his chest—a sound he’d normally be mortified to let anyone hear, but right now he doesn’t attempt to bite back his noises. Sylvain’s in the infirmary, Dimitri is probably with the professor, discussing the impending march on Derdriu. There’s no one around to hear him.

Felix releases his throat with a gasp and pushes his pelvis up, grinding himself against his palm. What would it feel like if it was Sylvain’s hand instead? Sylvain’s big body above him, pushing his thighs apart until the muscles strained. To have Sylvain’s cock inside, in the place where Felix so badly wants him. 

Felix clenches around nothing, panting, desperate, his hips jerking. The urge to yell Sylvain’s name rises in him like a sudden tide, and he shoves two glove-covered fingers into his mouth to stifle the urge to let it carry him away.

The taste of leather blooms on his tongue, the material rapidly growing soft and slick from Felix’s spit. He slides the fingers deeper and sucks, choking on a muffled cry at the sensation of having his mouth stuffed full. Good goddess, he wants it. Wants Sylvain to fill him and use him and slake his lusts in Felix’s body. The gloves belong to Sylvain, and so does Felix, even if Sylvain doesn’t know it. 

Felix fucks his mouth with his fingers, trembling and gagging slightly when the leather tickles the back of his throat. Perhaps he’ll steal these gloves, hide them away for later, for the next time the need gets too overwhelming to bear and he loses control in the dark.

He doesn’t register the door opening and closing, or the quick, startled breath, but the dip of the bed and the sound of his name—in Sylvain’s voice—yanks Felix from his feverish daze like a bucketful of icy water over his head.

Felix shoves the pillow aside and jerks upright, so shocked by Sylvain’s sudden appearance, he’s rendered mute for a few seconds. Oddly enough, the first thought to spring into his head when he does regain the ability to speak isn’t about his humiliation at being caught in the act of getting off in Sylvain’s bed, but his absolute fury at Sylvain daring to be _here_ instead of in the infirmary recovering from his injuries.

“What the hell are you doing?” Felix bursts out. “How can you be so reckless? You almost _died_ today. I’m taking you back to the—”

“Felix,” Sylvain cuts in, and the room is bright enough from the moonlight and the candle Sylvain must’ve brought with him that Felix can see the exhaustion in his eyes. But he sees something else there too, something that makes his mouth go dry. Desire. “I’m fine. I’ll be more comfortable in my own bed.”

Felix swallows thickly. “I… Then I should leave you to it.” He doesn’t bother trying to explain why he’s wearing the gloves, why he’s swimming in Sylvain’s shirt or why he was practically suffocating himself with the pillow. He’s fairly certain the reasons are obvious by now.

He starts to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, but Sylvain grabs his arm. “Don’t go,” Sylvain says, voice low and coaxing, as if he’s speaking to a skittish animal that might bolt at the slightest provocation. “And don’t stop,” he adds.

Felix stares at him, his cheeks burning. “Syl _vain_.”

“Felix,” Sylvain returns. The corner of his mouth crooks, a shadow of his normal smile. “I’m injured here. Don’t you want to make me feel better?”

“Tch.” Felix gives that statement the eye-roll it deserves, despite the heat in his face and the fact that his erection hasn’t flagged in the slightest. If anything, his cock feels harder with Sylvain there, his hand wrapped around Felix’s bicep and his voice curling seductively around the syllables of Felix’s name. “If you feel well enough to leave the infirmary, you don’t need any more help from me.”

“I think I do.” Sylvain’s hand slides down Felix’s arm to the mouth of the glove. He dips one finger underneath, between the leather and Felix’s wrist, and Felix outright trembles. “And I think you need a little help from me, too.”

Felix should scoff at the line, should get up and leave before the situation goes any further, but the truth is, he wants a reason to stay in Sylvain’s bed. He wants an excuse, however flimsy, to put his hands on Sylvain and let Sylvain put his hands on him.

“Stay,” Sylvain whispers.

Felix nods once, his gaze cutting to the side.

“Were you thinking about me?” Sylvain asks.

This time Felix does scoff, but he lies back down at Sylvain’s urging. “What do you think?”

Sylvain settles beside him with a soft grunt, a broad line of heat along Felix's side. “Show me, then. Show me, Felix.”

Felix hesitates. He can’t look at Sylvain right now, and he isn’t sure he could make a single move if the room was any brighter. As it is, even in the shadows, he’s uncertain and embarrassed. How do people _do_ this?

Long, calloused fingers touch his cheek; chapped lips brush his jaw. “Please, Felix.”

If Sylvain’s scent was intoxicating on the sheets, it’s downright addictive now, with their bodies so close together. Felix exhales a shuddery breath and reaches down to run his gloved fingers over the swell of his cock. They’re the same fingers he had in his mouth, and he can’t feel the dampness of the leather through his trousers, but he easily imagines how it would be, wet and supple against his heated skin.

“You can undo your laces,” Sylvain says softly, “if you want.”

Felix freezes for a moment, then jerks his chin. He does want. That’s the problem. He wants so much he isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t have the experience Sylvain has. He’s only ever done this alone.

Still, this is Sylvain. If Felix can do this in front of anyone, it’s him. If Felix _wants_ to do this in front of anyone, it’s Sylvain.

Breathing shakily, he undoes his laces and pushes the material down to reveal his cock. He takes the stiff length in hand and shivers, noting the gleam of moisture on the tip. 

“So pretty, Felix.” Sylvain’s breath is hot against his cheek.

Felix flushes. “Sh-shut up.”

“But you are.”

Felix closes his eyes, stroking his cock as Sylvain gently nuzzles him. His hand settles on Felix’s stomach, but he doesn’t move it any lower, just leaves it there, as if to anchor Felix in place.

Sylvain kisses his eyelid, his temple, the corner of his mouth. “I’ve thought about you like this, too. So many times.”

Felix shudders, fisting himself harder, faster. The leather is smooth and warm against his heated flesh, and he moans at the sensation, pausing to rub his thumb around the crown, over the slit, smearing the drops of fluid there.

“You look good in my clothes,” Sylvain whispers in his ear, silky and soft. “In my bed.”

Felix arches with a gasp. “S-Sylvain.”

“So beautiful.”

“Touch me,” Felix demands, turning his face into Sylvain’s throat.

“Where?” Sylvain asks.

“You _know_ where.”

Sylvain laughs and then makes a tiny, wounded noise, as if it hurt him.

Felix tries to pull away, to look at his face, but Sylvain holds him still. “I’m fine. A little sore, is all.”

Sylvain’s hand brushes Felix’s aside, long fingers curling around him.

Felix’s hips jerk up in spite of himself and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip to keep a whine from escaping when Sylvain almost immediately removes his touch.

“Shh. Just need it to be slicker.” Sylvain leans back and licks his palm, and Felix almost loses it right then and there.

When Sylvain fists his cock again, his grip is wet with spit and slides easily along Felix’s cock. Sylvain works him expertly, slick, firm strokes and subtle twists around the head. Felix tries to complement his rhythm, frantically lifting his hips, seeking more sensation, but Sylvain settles him with soothing whispers and delicate kisses along the line of his jaw.

Felix’s orgasm crests in a slow wave, ebbing and flowing in gentle pulses instead of the crashing frenzy he expected. He spills over Sylvain’s fist and pants, mouth hanging open, while Sylvain scatters kisses across his flushed face.

“That was perfect,” Sylvain breathes. “You’re perfect.”

Oversensitive and shaking, Felix pushes Sylvain’s hand away. He sees Sylvain wipe his spend on the sheets and crinkles his nose, disgusted. Although, Felix probably doesn’t have much room to criticize at the moment. He’s had Sylvain’s gloves in his mouth and around his cock, and who knows where they’ve been or what Sylvain’s done with them recently.

Sylvain chuckles, more a few quiet huffs than anything. “I’ll wash them tomorrow.”

Felix lifts his chin and pulls back a bit, finally managing to meet his gaze. Sylvain’s eyes are hooded, and he looks half-asleep already. “What—” He breaks off, licking his lips. “What about you?” He reaches for the fastenings of Sylvain’s breeches—they’re unfamiliar, likely borrowed from the infirmary where they’d stripped off his bloody clothes and armor after getting back to the monastery this morning—but Sylvain stops him with a soft grip around his wrist.

“I’d love to let you touch me, believe me,” Sylvain says, “but I don’t think I’m recovered enough just yet.” He kisses Felix, a quick brush of their mouths, and then wearily rests his head on the pillow. “Give me a couple of days, okay?” Felix nods as Sylvain drapes an arm over his waist. “Stay with me, Fe?”

“All right.” But Felix is not about to sleep with the gloves on and his cock hanging out. He tugs them off and tosses them to the floor, then tucks himself away and re-ties his laces.

Sylvain’s breathing has evened out to a slow, steady pace. Felix thinks he’s asleep until Sylvain speaks again, making him jump.

“Why now, Felix?”

Felix’s throat seizes up, and for a few seconds, all that emerges is a faint wheeze. Finally, he chokes the words out. “You could’ve _died_. You put yourself at risk for me.” He scowls up at the darkened ceiling. “We go together, right?”

“Right,” Sylvain says softly. “Together, like we promised.”

“Right.” Tentatively, Felix turns into Sylvain’s body and settles his arm around Sylvain’s waist. He can fit tucked under Sylvain’s chin, and it’s… nice. Nicer than he’d ever admit aloud.

“Don’t let go,” Sylvain says. “Keep me here, and I’ll do the same for you.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I won’t let you go, either.”

Sylvain nods, and moments later, Felix feels his limbs slacken as he slips into sleep. 

Felix reaches up to touch the side of Sylvain’s face, to brush away an errant red curl. “Happy birthday, Sylvain.”

Sylvain doesn’t stir. In the morning, Felix will tell him again. Tonight, he’ll just hold on.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos very much appreciated!
> 
> Come find me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MxTicketyBoo). I love connecting with fellow FE3H fans! <3


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